


The Consequences of Being a Stalkerfan

by chuusei_teki_na_koe



Series: The Fangirl Chronicles [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Consentacles, F/F, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 19:39:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16102442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuusei_teki_na_koe/pseuds/chuusei_teki_na_koe
Summary: There was a point in time when Akira swore she would never go full stalkerfan and follow Akiko Akechi around from the studio after filming.That time has passed—and now she's learned a little—or a lot—more than she bargained for.





	The Consequences of Being a Stalkerfan

 

There had been a point in time when Akira had sworn she'd never go full stalkerfan and follow Akiko Akechi around from the studio after filming. But, well, things had changed, circumstances were different, and she really, really couldn't help herself anymore. Her curiosity about Akechi's personal life had dialed up to brain-boiling levels of obsession that she was really not quite ready to admit to even herself.

She wasn't just a fan anymore, right? (Did that make this worse? Probably. She was still gonna do this.)

Akira had never personally stalked a celebrity, but she'd read the blogs and knew how it was done, and how best to get as close as possible to your ~~target~~ object of affection without them noticing your presence.

So on a day when she knew when Akechi was doing a filming, she waited outside the studio with a ballcap and face mask on (and she made sure to wear casual clothes, as bland an outfit as possible, and not her school uniform), leaning against the wall and fiddling with her phone as if she were waiting for someone.

The key to doing this sort of thing was acting like you belonged there.

She saw Akechi leave the building out of the corner of her eye, and didn't react or move until Akechi was at nearly out of sight, when she pushed off the wall and casually went walking in that direction.

Akira kept a long ways back and on the other side of the street, one eye on her map app as she followed Akechi. This would be the easy part—she figured Akechi was just going home. The diehards already had secret records of where she lived, so even if she lost track, there was a good chance Akira could catch up to her. And Akechi did go home to her apartment.

Akira waited outside another apartment a couple places down, lurking behind a cement block wall. She was prepared to wait a long time, or give up and go home for the day if it seemed Akechi wasn't going to go out again, but luckily, it seemed Akechi just went in to get changed, then came straight out again. She was in casual clothing—frankly, quite similar to what Akira was wearing, except she was in sweatpants and a face mask. Her hair was tied into mini barely-ponytail, and she wore a ballcap with the brim pulled low to cover her face.

Ohh. This was gonna be juicy. Akira's heartrate shot up.

Akira followed her to the train station, got in on the adjoining car, watching the exits at every station until Akechi got off a little ways out of Tokyo, in a rather expensive neighbourhood. Oho. Oho ho ho.

Akechi just kept walking along the street for quite some time. There weren't many people on the roads here, and it was quiet, and Akira's burning curiosity to know what Akechi was doing here was giving her sweats.

She didn't notice she had crossed over until they were already in the metaverse, and Akechi was approaching what was, in place of a house, a burning black pit like a coal mine.

_Oh, shit. Ohhhh shiiiiiiit._

Akira looked down at herself. She hadn't gone into phantom thief mode yet, and Akechi still seemed to look normal.

But there was no one on the street, here. And Akira hadn't activated the nav. So the only thing that could possibly have happened was—

Akechi had activated the app.

Akira's initial impulse was to just run up to Akechi and be like, _hey, fancy meeting you here in the metaverse!!_ But she squelched that thought. This didn't change the fact that she'd come here stalking Akechi, Akechi was clearly doing something she didn't want people to see, and revealing herself would probably be a terrible idea on many levels.

When Akechi entered the palace, Akira followed her down through a spiralling system of tunnels and wooden walkways.

Akira kept a low profile the whole time, and the shadows didn't recognize her—she remained in regular attire. It seemed Akechi, however, was immediately recognized as a threat, as her clothing transformed into a black and blue, helmeted affair with a sentai vibe to it—not what Akira would have expected from her, considering her image. But…all those belts…it was kinda _unf._ Kinda really _unf._

Akechi slaughtered the shadows carelessly, as if this was old hat for her, something she'd done a million times. She used a gun and sword, seemingly not even bothering to summon the persona she clearly possessed. It was immediately clear Akechi was so much more powerful than her—and if she so chose, she could flatten Akira in an instant.

Suddenly, the possibility that she just might do that became very real. She had been completely ignorant of who Akechi really was. Just because she was a persona user did not necessarily mean she was a friend.

Fear welled up from the pit of stomach. But she was in this, now. No going back.

Akira was used to sneaking, and went easily undetected as they descended down into the pit. There were tunnels branching off everywhere that looked like they extended to different parts of Tokyo… Did the master of this palace see himself as some kind of the center of some kind of (literally) underground network?

As they neared the bottom, Akira found out. Looking down below from a gap in the tunnel wall, she saw the master of the palace: a pulsing, veiny monster with tentacles extending out forever in every direction.

(Akira was into tentacle stuff, but this wasn't really her sort of tentacle monster. The tentacles were too thin, tbh.)

At this point, Akira became conflicted. She didn't know what was going on here, but her presence here was now beyond just a little celebrity stalking. She was in deep over her head in an unfamiliar palace, following behind an insanely powerful persona user with a boss shadow just a couple floors below them.

She should bail. She'd learned enough, here. This was too dangerous—and she wasn't stupid.

Akechi was just turning a corner, and Akira was about to pull out of her hiding spot to return the way she'd come when—

_Bzzzzzt._

Her phone vibrated. Loudly. It echoed down the silent tunnel.

_You can get text messages in the metaverse?! Fuck! Fuck!!_ _Fuck you, Ryuji! I'm not working out with you today, give it up!!_ Akira glanced ahead. Akechi's foot steps stopped for a moment—then there were a couple of quick steps, and she came racing back around the corner toward Akira.

Akira bolted, running as fast as her legs would carry her in the opposite direction, but then she heard the cry, _“Melinoe!_ ” from behind her, and that tone of voice sent shivers down her spine, but her legs kept going—

until there was a _smack_ around her ankle as something looped around it, and a split-second later she was on her face on the floor, trying to yank her leg away from whatever had grabbed it with no success at all. She wished she had her knives, anything, but the master of the palace hadn't even acknowledged her yet, and she was stuck in her regular form and not yet able to summon her persona. Akira glanced around wildly for a shadow, hoping she could yell at it or something to try to antagonize it, get her recognized, but there weren't any around at all. And she was being slowly dragged backward by the ankle, kicking and fighting in futility.

At the very least, she would see what was dragging her. Akira rolled over onto her back and saw it was a long, red-orange rope of hair wrapped around her ankle, dragging her to where Akechi stood before a great, lanky, black-and-white-striped persona. She wore a dress of nightmare haze, her striped skin visible beneath it shifting and moving in a way that confused the eye. From her head grew wild, orange-red hair that whipped around freely, and she crouched precariously balanced on orange-red disc that resembled a searing-hot moon. She loomed over Akechi, hulking in her mass, her face a mask that revealed the hint of a toothy maw.

The whiplike rope of hair around Akira's ankle lead back to the persona's head and was swiftly pulling her in. Akechi's face was covered by the mask, inscrutable, and her posture was equally unreadable. Her gun was raised and pointed at Akira's head.

She needed to become Joker. _Now._ There was only one option left.

Akira screamed at the top of her lungs, rolling forward to grab the hair around her ankle, yanking it to launch herself _toward_ Akechi. Startled, Akechi reacted a moment too late, shooting the ground where Akira had been, and Akira's slammed straight into Akechi, bowling her over backward and forcing down her gun arm.

_I'm sorry I said fuck you, Ryuji! Thank you thank you thank you for dragging me to the gym all the time!_ Akira though as she held down Akechi's forearm with one hand, kicking the sword out of her other with her free foot. Akira was reaching over with her other hand and just barely managed to pry the gun out of Akechi's fingers when—

_Oh yeah. Her persona._

_Shit._

Akira was yanked into the air upside down, hanging from her ankle. She had Akechi's gun, but that didn't do her much good when the persona swung her around by its hair and slammed her into the dirt wall.

It was only a testament to how much fighting she'd done at this point that she kept her grip on the gun, but the impact knocked the wind out of her entirely, and she could only lie on the ground and attempt to gasp for air. Her head flopped over to look at the gun in her hand—and saw a red glove gripping it. She grinned.

Attracted by her scream, shadows had gathered from both ends of the tunnel, cornering the both of them. Akira thought for sure they would distract Akechi for her—but they didn't. The black-and-white persona kept a firm grip on her with its hair as it fired off curse spells in every direction.

But now Akira was no longer weaponless. _“Irene!”_ she cried, and her persona, the incarnation of the only woman to have bested the famous detective, emerged from beneath her mask. Irene's form was, at a glance, black, nondescript, a figure with a hat and veil in a long dress and shawl in eighteenth century style. It was only when she attacked that her shawl unfolded into wings, and the blood-red layer beneath was exposed.

Irene always kept her claws hidden until she was ready to strike.

Irene slashed at the braid that held her captive with her sharp claws, slicing the restrained around Akira's ankle.

Akira threw herself down, sliding under the personas to scrabble her way to escape, Irene blasting them with dream needles as she went—hopefully that would knock some of them out.

A heartbeat later, and she was sprinting back along the tunnel again, but she could hear screaming behind her, an incoherent shriek of rage that turned her blood to ice. She chanced a look back—and nearly stumbled. A whole horde of shadows were racing after her blindly, and there was something wrong with them—they were covered in black goop, eyes rolled back in their heads and howling as they scrambled at her with insane speed.

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit—_

“ _Power!_ ” Akira sukukaja'd her ass out of there, staying just a hair ahead of the rampaging mass of shadows, as she felt a bullet whiz past her ear. Throwing fire spells behind her wildly in attempt to blind the enemies in pursuit, she ran and ran and ran, shoving past shadows and more shadows that all bellowed and joined the chase, until eventually she burst out on the surface and crashed out of the metaverse with a force like breaking through a window headfirst.

She stumbled and fell, but didn't let that break her stride, smacking the ground and rolling, on her feet in another split second and racing the hell out of there.

She just kept going, all the way to the train station, beating her escape as fast as her legs would take her, leaping over the ticket gates like a maniac, ignoring the yelling of the station staff as she shoved herself into a departing train right as the doors were closing.

Everyone was staring at her, and inching away to give this crazy delinquent chick room.

Akira breathed a sigh of intense relief, her knees weakening as she leaned against the barrier by the train doors. She'd made it. Immediately, she pulled out her phone to see that Ryuji had indeed texted her. _God damn, Ryuji, talk about terrible fucking timing._

**I already got my workout for the day,** she texted him, **but next time, we're going hard. REAL hard. Just so you know, I love you, man.** Then she put away her phone with a sigh.

x x x

Ryuji was already at the gym, getting changed, when his phone dinged. He fished into the pocket on his gym bag to pull out his phone and saw Akira had replied to him.

He blushed. “I thought…she was only into girls…?” he muttered to himself.

x x x

Around the time Akira got back home, she noticed she had a text from Akechi.

**Hey there, there was something I wanted to talk to you about. Do you have some time this evening?**

Standing downstairs in Leblanc, still feeling sweaty as fuck from all that running, Akira stared at her phone in something close to terror, a single question weighting on her mind.

_Did she recognize me back there, or not?!_

She _had_ been wearing a ballcap and face mask, and then as Joker, she was masked, too…

Either Akechi was coming to kill her, in which case, the answer to this text would be **sure but I've called over my ex-yakuza buddy to guard the front door,** or Akechi wanted to have an ~intimate conversation,~ in which case the answer was **stay over tonight, baby~**

The latter was probably not a sane response, but somewhere in between the heart-pounding terror and sense of impending doom, Akira had somehow managed to find the space in her brain to think, _huh, that costume was really fucking hot._ Followed up by, _huh, given different circumstances, I would totally not mind that persona tying me up with all that sexy hair._

Maybe it was just the suspension bridge effect talking. Not for the first time, Akira thought, _my libido is both a blessing and a curse._

Akira continued to stare at her phone for a little while longer, making herself even more sweaty with anxiety, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned her head to look, and received a brutal poke in the cheek.

“Who died?” Futaba asked.

“Nobody, yet,” Akira replied. “But possibly me, in the near future.”

“Have your girlfriends finally all found out about each other?” Futaba asked, leaning back against the bar. “You deserve this, you know.”

“Ha! Do you take me for an amateur?” Akira crowed. “I have a spreadsheet to manage that. …There's just one girlfriend I think might kill me, regardless.”

“Makoto,” Futaba guessed, not inaccurately.

“No,” Akira pointed a finger-gun at Futaba. “Not yet. I've got that under control. And not goth doctor, either. I mean, she might kill me, but I don't think she means to do it deliberately. Yet. It's actually, uh…”

“Akechi,” was Futaba's next guess.

Akira winced. “Yeah?”

“She's found out about the other girls. Come on. She's a detective. And I think she's the jealous type.”

“Huh? Why do you think she's the jealous type?”

Futaba pushed her glasses up her nose, and they flashed under the cafe lights. “Because I'm the jealous type, and it takes one to know one.”

A shiver ran down Akira's spine. She felt a little bit sorry for whoever would date Futaba in the future. The girl was obsessively stalked people she was interested in, mining the internet for all information related to them. Which admittedly Akira also did, but at least she didn't install spyware in her crush's phone.

Actually, wait. That was a good idea. “Could you install spyware in Akechi's phone for me?”

A wide grin slowly spread on Futaba's face, as if she'd been anticipating this question. “Depends. What's it worth to ya?”

“My undying love?”

Futaba sighed and pushed off the counter, walking to the door.

“Wait wait wait! Okay, okay. Limited edition first season figure of Featherman Black. Come on, pleeeease?” Akira wheedled.

“Gotta be mint in the box, with all the accessories,” Futaba specified. “And you gotta come with me to Akiba to get it,” she said shyly, looking up at Akira with upturned eyes in that perfect, cute little sister look, toes pigeoned at just the right angle, hands folded behind her back.

“Only because you did the moe thing,” Akira said. “When did you get so manipulative?”

“When you told me explicitly what worked,” Futaba grinned at her.

x x x

Getting Futaba to help her spy on Akechi would help in the future, but it didn't solve her immediate problem of what to do about this text. Akira flopped down on her bed and stared at her phone.

Was it crazy that she hoped Akechi just hadn't recognized her? To want to continue as they have been, pretending that she was not aware Akechi was in fact a total psycho who had literally just tried to kill her?

Akira formulated possible responses in her head. _Plz don't kill me, I worship u, will totally help whatever psycho plans u have xoxoxo_

Yeah, that wasn't gonna fly.

She lay on her back, staring up at her ceiling, into the eyes of the Akiko Akechi poster taped there. She knew she had recently crossed the line from reasonably devoted fangirl to probably-unhealthily obsessed. But Akechi had been the one thing to support her through the shitstorm that had been her life in high school. She'd been on board since even before Akechi's first TV appearance, back when the very first little magazine mini-segment had mentioned her. For some reason, just that little picture and short article had been enough to grasp hold of her, and it hadn't let go of her since.

Akira wouldn't let go of Akechi, either.

Raising her phone up above her face, Akira typed, **sure. Come over any time.** And hit send before she could even think about hesitating.

Whatever happened, she would handle it.

x x x

By the time Akechi arrived, Akira had already gone across the street to shower quickly, changed into a fresh, non-suspicious outfit, and had buried her incriminating outfit deep in a box of things Akechi would never see and shoved it under the bed. She'd kicked Morgana out, too, saying she wanted privacy for sexytimes, which got rid of the cat in a hurry.

She'd searched out all of Futaba's cameras (that she was aware of…) and disabled them, too. She wanted this to be absolutely private.

She also slid a cooking knife under the counter at Leblanc and planned to stay the fuck behind the bar and within view of the door at all times. The stuff she took into the metaverse wasn't real, after all, but Sojiro's chef knives were frighteningly sharp, high-quality shit.

By the time Akechi arrived, Akira had already downed four espresso shots to pass the time and was riding a wave of intense jitteriness.

“Hello, Kurusu,” Akechi greeted her as she pushed open the door, going to sit down in her usual seat. “Mr. Sakura's gone already, I see?”

“Yeah, he had stuff,” Akira said smoothly. Very smoothly.

Akechi ordered her her usual latte, but ordered two extra shots in it. She sat there as pleasantly as she always did, but this time, Akira was just standing there, staring at her, waiting for her to pull out a gun, or something. Would she smile as she fired it, or go dead-eyed, or get this weird crazy intense expression? Somehow, Akira figured it would be option number three. That scream back in that palace had been pretty fucking intense. Akira examined Akechi's face, trying to find some trace of that scream there, but there was nothing. Perfect, pleasant TV face. You wouldn't even think they were the same person.

“Is there something on my face?” Akechi said pleasantly. “You're staring.” She was smiling, but her face looked plainly tired. Which was unsurprising.

Akira blinked, and jerked back. “Uh. Oh. Sorry. Just zoning out. Staring into space.” She went over to scrubbing some thing that didn't need to be scrubbed with a rag, looking at the knife under the counter out of the corner of her eye.

“I thought I saw you, today,” Akechi said suddenly, “outside the TV station. Or maybe it was just someone who looked like you.”

Akira's heart leaped into her throat. “Huh. Oh, yeah? Well. I've got a pretty typical face. Lots of people look like me,” she said, lamely.

Akechi seemed to suddenly change subjects, then. “I feel like I have a connection with you. At first, I thought we were so different. Polar opposites, even. And in some ways, I suppose we are. But we have a lot in common, too, don't we?” Akechi stared at her, her eyes practically burning a hole in Akira's forehead.

Akira was sweating bullets under her barista apron. _Does she know? Does she know?? Is this a signal?? Or is it just really awkward flirting?_ “Aha-ha,” Akira heard herself laughing lamely. “I dunno, you're a lot better-looking than me.”

That remark seemed to draw the quirk of a smile to Akechi's lips, and Akira relaxed just a fraction. “Don't sell yourself short,” Akechi said. “Your charm is in your humour, and real confidence.”

“…Are you flirting with me?”

“We're long past flirting, aren't we?” Akechi replied. And this was true. But right now, Akira was feeling like she'd never even gotten within a hundred miles of the real Akiko Akechi, and all the flirting and canoodling in the world wouldn't help her there.

Her throat dry, she swallowed. “Past flirting. But where are we?”

“Where would you like to be?” Akechi said, and she turned her face aside, eyes not meeting Akira's.

“Where will you let me be?” Akira asked, vaguely.

Only Akechi's eyes moved, looking back at her. “Where will you let _me_ be?”

A long silence fell between them until Akira spoke again. “Wherever you want. Whatever you want. …No matter what.”

Something filled Akechi's eyes, then. Elation? Triumph? Akira couldn't help but feel like maybe there had been a silent competition going on all this time, and she had just lost.

Maybe she was okay with that.

“But if I'm going to be honest,” Akira said, backing a way a little with a silly smile, “I'd like you to be upstairs on my bed.”

Akechi blushed then, and it seemed like such sincere shyness that Akira just couldn't believe that Akechi had just come in here with the intention of killing her. Akechi didn't know it had been her, in that palace. She couldn't know.

“That's actually what I meant to talk about,” Akechi said, clearing her throat. “As much as I enjoy your company, I'm really not sure we should…continue.”

Akira was both surprised and dismayed. For some reason, the revelation that Akechi wanted to talk about breaking up was more upsetting than the idea that she was coming to kill her.

“What? Why? Did I do something to upset you?” Akira said, hoping she didn't sound too ridiculously needy and clinging.

“No, no, not at all!” Akechi said, waving her hands in negation. “It's just…I'm not…” her eyes wandered away. “I just think it's better if we don't.”

Akira scowled. “That's not an answer at all.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I still want to spend time here, I do enjoy your company—”

Akechi was interrupted when Akira yanked her by the tie, pulling her across the bar in an aggressive, open-mouthed kiss.

Akechi made a little noise, but sank into it, opening her lips to Akira's tongue as she leaned her gloved hands against the bar to maintain balance. Akira nibbled at her bottom lip lightly, then pulled away. Akechi was red and panting.

“What was that about breaking up again?” Akira said, her tone smug.

“Um…” Akechi attempted to gather herself, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I…”

“You desperately want to fuck me,” Akira leaned in to whisper into her ear.

“Th-that's not what I was going to say!” Akechi jerked back.

“You were thinking it.”

“Well…”

“Look…if you're not going to tell me why, then I can't accept that as a reason. So that means we can't break up. Okay?”

Akechi was staring at Akira like some kind of alien creature she didn't even know how to approach, let alone manage.

“I don't know what's going on in your life, but just…don't think about it. We're having a good time right now. That's enough, right?”

Akechi cracked a small smile. “Yes…right now.”

Akira grinned back at her. “Great! So if you're done your coffee, come upstairs and we'll watch a movie!”

x x x

Horror movies were swiftly becoming their thing, and this time, it was _A Nightmare on Elm Street._ Again, Akechi was glued to the screen, rapt in the face of the cheesy gore and unflinching in the face of every scare.

“Well, that's gonna give me nightmares,” Akira said when the movie was done.

“Really? _That_ movie?” Akechi said, aghast. “It really wasn't scary at all. It was funny, more than anything.”

“Hey, some of us don't have hearts made of iron,” Akira shot back at her.

Akechi looked out the window, then down at her phone. It was dark out. “I really enjoyed tonight, but I should be getting back soon,” she said, getting off the couch. “It's late.”

“What?” Akira protested. “It's not even ten yet! And c'mon. I can convince you to stay a little later.” Her arms snaked around Akechi's waist.

Akechi seemed to waver. “I don't want to miss the last train. And I have a feeling you _want_ to make me miss the last train.”

Akira nuzzled Akechi's neck, mouthing her skin gently. “Yeah. I do. What's the big deal? Tomorrow's the weekend. Stay over.”

“Hnn…” Akechi made a cute little noise. “I really am tired…and I'm not just saying that.” As if to prove this, she yawned.

Unfortunately, after the events of that day, Akira believed this. “That's fine. We can just cuddle and sleep. I just like having you here.”

Akechi paused a moment, going entirely silent. Akira wondered if maybe that had been too awkward a thing to say. She didn't think it was weird. But Akechi reacted to things strangely, sometimes.

“…All right,” Akechi said finally. “I'll stay over. Just tonight.”

“Woo! Sleepover!” Akira pumped a fist. “Time for cuddles!”

Akechi giggled. “You're too excited about this.”

“You can never get too excited about cuddles.”

Akira loaned Akechi an oversized shirt she had lying around and yanked her into a tight snuggle. It was summer, and hot enough that they just slept on top of the blankets, but even if it was a little sweaty, Akira kept her arms tight around Akechi, and in that moment, she completely forgot everything that had happened earlier that day.

In that moment.

x x x

When Akira woke up again, she was back in the tunnel, lying on the dirt floor with her hands scrabbling against the ground as she desperately resisted the pull of the rope of hair around her ankle. Its pulls came in irregular yanks, ripping her grip off the ground. Looking at her hands, Akira saw they were gloved in red. She was Joker. But Irene wasn't coming to her.

One final yank, and Akira was wrenched all the way back toward Akechi's persona, then lifted into the air upside-down as she had been before. She felt the persona's hair snaking around her other ankle, then her wrists, and she was slowly rotated upright, arms raised up behind her.

Akechi stood before her, masked, imposing. “You shouldn't have followed me here,” she said, and her voice sounded different from when she sat in the cafe. Practically hissing. “You're stupid.”

Black haze billowed around them, filling the edges of Akira's vision. Dimly, she recognized it was coming from Akechi's persona.

Akira struggled against her bonds, but in vain. They were as solid as iron cables.

“What the hell is going on, here?” Akira demanded. “Why didn't you tell me you have a persona, too?”

“You don't get to ask questions,” Akechi replied. “You came here. So now you're going to get what you wanted. You get to see me. All of me. And then when I'm done…” Akechi flipped open her helmet, and the look in her eye was tinged with madness. “We'll see if you still want me.”

Akira locked eyes with her, and shivered.

A blackness deeper than that of Akechi's costume began to run through her body, starting with her hands and feet, and when it got to her heart, she cried out and clutched her chest, gasping. But the blackness continued to rise up to her neck, making her choke, and when it reached her eyes, they went bloodshot.

Akechi ripped off her helmet, tossed it aside, lunged forward, and bit Akira on the neck. Hard. Akira thought she was into biting, but this was lacking in even any sort of tinge of eroticism, clearly meant to hurt as it broke skin and drew blood. Akira clenched her teeth and tensed as Akechi pushed her back against the wall of the cave, and following her hands came something else—it looked as if the very stripes were slithering off Akechi's persona's skin to press against every part of Akira's body, holding down her hair, shoulders, stomach, thighs, and calves. They were cool where they touched her, like something dead, and slick with a nameless clear fluid.

Akechi pulled away, a cruel grin on her face, and watched as the tentacles explored Akira's body. Akira stared back at her, caught between missing the touch and being relieved that nothing worse happened. But Akechi just watched, one hand carefully resting on the bottom half of her mask in a thoughtful gesture, her eyes dark and glassy as her persona's tentacles slid under Akira's clothing and around her limbs. First one, then two pressed against Akira's lips, and Akira opened her mouth to let them in, sucking on the cool protrusions, and when her tongue slid across them, Akechi shuddered as if she'd felt it herself.

Two more tentacles pushed up Akira's shirt, wrapping around her breasts and squeezing lightly as a third wound its way up her thigh, snaking around her panties to push inside her. It was cold enough to make Akira shiver on its entrance, but it slid inside slowly, teasingly. Akira moaned around the tentacles in her mouth, and Akechi's grin split wider.

“You like this sort of thing, don't you?” Akechi murmured, and Akira closed her eyes, nodding. “Well, I suppose I won't have to hold back, then.”

One tentacle slid up Akira's other leg while another slid under her skirt. Akira's thighs were pushed apart and her skirt raised up for Akechi's viewing, while yet another tentacle slid along the crevice of her ass underneath her panties to wriggle into her asshole. The tentacle holding her skirt up slithered down to rest right above her clit and teased at the possibility of pleasuring her.

Akechi's posture was casual, leaning on one leg, as if she were simply waiting for the bus, but the look on her face, under the shadow of her mask, told a different story. “You're completely helpless,” she said. “Completely under my control. Of course, you always have been, haven't you? You just didn't know it.”

Akira just nodded. If this was the kind of dirty talk Akechi liked, Akira could go for that. She could go for just about anything, right now.

“Do you want me to make it good for you?” Akechi purred, and Akira nodded again. “Well, too bad. It's not going to be good for you. Not at all.” Akechi made a casual gesture with one hand, and the tentacles began pounding both Akira's pussy and asshole at once, hard. The one above her clit just barely twitched, making her aware it was there, making her aware Akechi was choosing not to let her have it.

The tentacles in Akira's mouth fucked her, too, hitting as far back as they could go until Akira gagged on them, drooling out the corners of her mouth. Then they pulled out as suddenly as they had thrust in, and Akira gasped for air.

Akechi took a step forward and leaned close to her, voice low. “You know this is nothing for me, right? I could crush you any time I wanted. I could crush _all_ of you. You're only alive because you're _useful_ to me.”

Akira only grinned back at her, panting. “Crush me, please.”

Akechi scowled and backhanded Akira across the face. “Don't you _dare_ talk back to me.”

“If I talk back to you, will you slap me again? I sure hope you will,” Akira moaned, and Akechi raised her hand, but then hesitated, as if frustrated that she would give Akira just what she wanted.

“I'm going to make you _hurt,_ ” Akechi snarled, and she made a violent gesture with one arm. The tentacle in Akira's ass thrust hard, snaking deeper inside than anything had a right to be, and Akira cried out, throwing her head back as the black and white appendages continued to ram both her holes raw. “Maybe this isn't enough for you to get it?”

A second tentacle slid in beside the one fucking Akira's pussy, forcing its way in, stretching her wideer, and the two tentacles slid back and forth inside her in an alternating rhythm as Akechi watched, biting her lip, right hand clenched against her side.

“Do you want to come?” Akechi asked, tone sickly-sweet. “Do you want me to let you come?”

“Yes, please, let me come,” Akira moaned, and obligingly, the tentacle above her clit slid down to rub her gently, and Akira shuddered under its touch.

“Anything you have, you only get because I _let_ you have it,” Akechi said imperiously. “You're my pawn, my _slave,_ and you're nothing to me. You're _nothing!_ ” She said it with such rage, you'd think she was in the middle of a fight, but Akira had never said a word against her. Who was she even arguing with?

“I'm your slave, I'm nothing,” Akira panted, and Akechi took one more step toward her, reaching out to place her hand around Akira's neck, squeezing just a little.

“I hate you,” she said, clenching, and that was when Akira came, spasming around the tentacles that filled her, choking under Akechi's grip on her throat. The tentacles kept fucking her violently as Akechi's other hand joined the first, cutting off Akira's air completely, her eyes locked on Akira's as Akira's mouth opened and closed uselessly.

As the tentacles beat a second orgasm out of her, Akechi released her throat, and Akira gasped for air, unable to even think of anything but the sensation ripping through her.

The aftershocks weren't even done when suddenly, the tentacles all pulled away from her, dropping her on the ground in a limp puddle of her own spit, sweat, and juices. The tentacles returned to the persona's body, wrapping around it and squeezing like binding ropes until they melded into its flesh and became a part of it again.

Akira lay on her side, panting, eyes closed, just trying to gather herself. Akechi toed her with one boot, rolling her over onto her back, and stepped on her face, pressing her cheek into the cool earth. “You're trash,” she hissed, and spat down on Akira's face.

Akira laughed. “Oh, you're too good to me.”

The black haze of Akechi's persona's dress billowed out suddenly, surrounding the whole area, covering Akira's vision. The last thing Akira saw before her eyes were completely clouded over was Akechi's face. She was biting her lip, her eyes dark, and somehow, sad.

“We could cuddle, if you're feeling that lonely,” Akira quipped, but by the time the words were out of her mouth, all that surrounded her was blackness.

x x x

When Akira woke the next morning, Akechi was already gone, and her pussy felt sensitive in the way it did when she knew she'd come in her sleep. She was certain she'd had a really crazy sexy dream involving Akechi and tentacles, but the details were extremely hazy.

She reached over to her bedside table for her phone so she could text Akechi. **Leaving without even a goodbye kiss in the morning?? That's so cold!!**

Akechi's reply came fairly quickly. **Ah, I'm sorry. I had some urgent business to attend to.**

**You should make it up to me,** Akira typed back.

**How would I do that?**

**Just send me a cute selfie.** Akira would really have liked something sexier than that, but she knew there was no way in hell that would happen.

Akechi didn't reply right away, so Akira assumed she was working on it.

In the meantime, Akira got a ping from Futaba.

**Hey Akira. I finished that program you asked for. It's all set up on the other end. Here's the download link. Happy spying~**

**Woo! Thanks, Futaba! You're a genius!** Akira replied.

**Tee-hee. <3**

This was the app Futaba had promised Akira for spying on Akechi. Akira installed it right away and launched it to display whatever Akechi had on her screen. She would probably feel guilty later for all this spying, but right now, she was just too excited to think about it.

Immediately, Akira saw Akechi's face, and was startled. She blinked. Oh, Akechi must have been taking a selfie, like Akira had asked her too. Her hair was perfectly arranged, her makeup was precise, and she was at a very selfie-like angle, from slightly above and to the side.

Akira watched as Akechi snapped a picture. Then Akechi selected the image from the gallery. There was a pause, and then the delete icon flashed, and the image was gone.

Back to selfie mode. She snapped another picture. Selected the image in the gallery, paused, and then deleted that one, too.

Well, selfies were hard. It was always hard to take a satisfying one, especially when the lighting was a little weird.

But Akechi kept going. And going. And going. Akira lost count of just how many she took, but it was well into the double-digits, probably thirty, or fifty, or more? And all of them seemed to look pretty close to the same. It wasn't as if her expressions in them were wildly different, or anything. It was always a small, neutral smile. Eyes opened at a precise angle. Just the same thing, over and over and over.

She was at it for over an hour. And for some reason, Akira couldn't stop watching.

At some point, Akechi's thumb must have slipped or something, as she switched to video mode. Akira saw her stare at the phone for a good ten seconds as the video just kept recording. Then her expression twisted into something between rage and disgust. “You're so fucking fake,” Akechi's face said on the screen. And then the screen went black. She'd turned it off.

For a moment, Akira thought she could nearly remember the dream she'd had the night before. But then it was gone.

 


End file.
